Matters of the Heart
by Hanonymous
Summary: She appeared in his life like a brilliant burst of light: beautiful, fiery, and altogether something that could not be ignored. He tried to push her away, but he found himself enraptured by her, and he soon realized that he could not let her go. [Pondlock. Rated T for romance and occasional mild language.]
1. Prologue

**A/N:**

**Hello everyone! *waves* It's Han. Glad to be back!**

**I want to give you all some updates on my stories so far. If you've checked my profile recently, you'll notice that _Picture This _is not discontinued, merely on hiatus. Yes, this means that I DO plan to continue. Probably. Someday. We'll see.**

_**The Forgotten Story **_**has not, in fact, been forgotten. I've been really busy with school and have no time to write at home. And TFS is one thing that I really can't write anywhere but at home. It requires a lot of thought, and oftentimes I need to go check something in an episode, which is something that I'm unable to do at school. I'm reluctant to mark it as being an official hiatus, though.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, guys! The title, _Red and Blue_, is temporary until I think of a better one. If you have any suggestions, please leave a review. :P**

**-Han**

* * *

_prologue_

It was an evening in late autumn when Amy Pond first met Sherlock Holmes.

She was running, running fast, because the Doctor was gone. He had simply disappeared and she couldn't remember where they'd left the TARDIS. Her breath puffed out in white clouds that drifted away in the chilly air, but she wasn't cold; adrenaline made her blood hot as she skidded to a stop, hair flying as she looked around.

_I've seen that building there, _she decided. _Which means I have to go__… __um, left._

Amy turned on her heel, boots thudding on the asphalt as she crossed the street. She didn't even notice the figure that was walking down the sidewalk until she quite literally crashed into him.

The man let out a heavy breath, an exhalation of surprise as his hands clamped around her upper arms. Amy looked up at him, fighting to catch her breath.

The man had a sharp, pale face, with high cheekbones and piercing ice-blue eyes. His hair was a mop of soft, dark curls. Around his neck was tied a deep blue scarf - TARDIS blue, Amy noted - and he wore a thick wool trench coat of charcoal grey, underneath which was what looked like a black suit with a white shirt. His handsome face showed surprise for only a moment before his features rearranged into an impassive expression.

Sherlock – for of course the man was Sherlock Holmes – was quite startled when this young woman ran straight into him, interrupting his thoughts. His hands curled around her arms in an attempt to both steady himself and halt the girl's motion. Forcing himself to recover quickly, he looked her over, taking in all the details.

Her nose was dusted with freckles and her cheeks were flushed, either from the cold or the exertion of running, which made her hazel eyes bright. Her hair, which was so red it could not have been anything but natural, was in disarray. She wore a vibrant red scarf, the long ends tossed over her shoulders, and a turquoise-green coat over a maroon sweater. A short black skirt that seemed somewhat inappropriate for this weather showed off her long legs, which were clad in dark brown tights and brown, knee-high boots.

It was Amy who broke the spell, pulling out of Sherlock's now-relaxed grasp. "Sorry," she said, darting past him. "I'm in a bit of a rush."

She was Scottish, he noticed vaguely as he turned to watch her go. Distinctly Scottish. How very interesting.

The ginger turned and disappeared around a corner, gone from his life as suddenly as she had entered it.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**And here's Chapter 1! I try to stay a few chapters in advance, so I'll update as regularly as I can.**

**Also, thanks to those who followed and favorited this already!**** I really appreciate it :)**

**-Han**

* * *

_one_

_Two days later_

John Watson climbed the stairs to the flat he shared with Sherlock Holmes, slipping off his jacket and hanging it up as he entered. "Sherlock?"

"You have news," his flatmate said by way of greeting, not looking up. He was stretched out on his chair, eyes closed, fingers steepled under his chin.

"Uh... yes, I have." John decided not to question how Sherlock came by this knowledge. "We've got a new neighbor. She just moved into 221c."

"She?" Sherlock opened one eye.

"Yep. She's alone, just came to London - though she's got practically nothing with her. Mrs. Hudson says we should go say hello."

Sherlock sighed. "Must I?"

"Yes, you must," John said, turning back toward the hallway. "She arrived not too long ago, so we can go down now."

Letting out another exaggerated sigh, Sherlock rose and followed John down the stairs.

* * *

Amy had just placed her bag down by the window when there was a knock at her door. She groaned softly before fixing a pleasant smile on her face, going to answer it.

There were two men standing there. "Hello," the one in the front said. He was rather short, with tanned skin and blond hair. "We're your new neighbors. I'm John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes."

He gave her a friendly smile, but Amy was barely listening. She was too busy staring at the taller, dark-haired man behind him.

"It's you!" she cried.

Sherlock's look of surprise disappeared so quickly, Amy thought she must have imagined it. "The Scottish girl," he observed.

John looked bewildered. "Uh... do you two know each other?"

Sherlock snorted. "Hardly. She bumped into me on the street two nights ago - quite literally, I'm afraid. She seemed to be in a hurry."

"I'm not just 'the Scottish girl'," Amy said, recovering from her shock. She crossed her arms. "My name's Amy. Amy Pond."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Pond," John said, offering her his hand. "If you want, you could come up and have tea with us after you've moved in."

Amy shook his hand, giving him a flirtatious grin. "Just Amy, thanks. And I'd love to. Does tomorrow work for you boys?"

John returned her smile. "Tomorrow it is. 6 o'clock?"

"Sure! I'll see you then," Amy told them, directing another bright smile at Sherlock. He seemed wholly unaffected by it, but that wouldn't deter her in the slightest. "Bye, Sherlock. Bye, John."

"Goodnight, Amy," John replied as he and Sherlock stepped away from the door. Amy waved, closing the door behind them.

* * *

"So, were you deducing her?" John asked once he and Sherlock were back in their own flat.

"Some," the detective answered, but that was all he was willing to say on the matter.

John sighed. Sometimes there was no arguing with Sherlock. He figured he'd just have to wait until tomorrow to learn more about the mysterious Amy Pond.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

**Thanks to the guest who reviewed! :D**

**Follow, favorite, review, all that jazz c:**

**-Han**

* * *

_two_

At around 6:05 the next evening, Amy pulled on a soft dark blue sweater that she'd just bought, her black skirt, and her boots. Pulling her hair back into a loose twist, she went up to 221b for her tea with Sherlock and John.

John answered the door with a smile. "Hello, Amy. Good timing, I've just put the kettle on," he said. "Come on in."

"Thanks." She entered, taking a seat on the surprisingly comfortable sofa.

Her eyes flicked around the room, taking in the cluttered space. The flat seemed comfortable, if not a little cramped with all the various objects scattered about. There were plenty of books – shelves of them, in fact – which pleased her immensely. Maybe she'd be able to borrow some.

Eventually, Amy's gaze landed on Sherlock. He was sitting in one of the two armchairs, his eyes fixed intently on her. Refusing to let it show how much it unnerved her, she stared back, lifting her chin.

John poked his head out of the kitchen, oblivious to the intense staring contest that was taking place. "Amy, how do you like your tea?"

"Milk, two sugars," she responded, giving him a distracted smile before looking at Sherlock again.

Sherlock's eyebrows drew inward slightly. He was not looking at her as though he found her beautiful; he was looking at her as a puzzle, a mystery he could not solve.

Amy leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and putting her chin in her hands. She would not be intimidated by him.

A little smile grew on Amy's lips as she realized what Sherlock was doing. He was studying her, trying to figure her out. Well, two could play at that game.

John came into the room again, holding three mugs. As he handed Amy and Sherlock their respective cups of tea, he finally seemed to notice the tension in the room. "What's wrong? Sherlock, did you say something rude?"

Amy lifted her eyebrows, leaning back and sipping her tea. "Actually, he hasn't said a word. He's just been sitting there staring at me." She smirked, adding, "Go on, Sherly, tell John what you think of me."

Sherlock took a breath.

"You've been traveling – with a friend, not a lover, but someone you care for deeply. He left you behind unexpectedly, which is why you're here. The other night, you were looking for him – that's why you were running. You believe he'll be back soon, despite the fact that he's left you behind for a long period of time before. So, childhood friend. You met him when you were very young. He had to leave, somewhere you couldn't follow. You parted on friendly terms, but he took longer than you expected to return. By the time you came back you were probably angry, since you trusted him and he abandoned you. But enough on that. You're Scottish, and despite living in England for most of your life you've managed to retain your accent to a strong degree. This suggests stubbornness, which is not uncommon, especially for a Scottish woman. You've lost someone, someone very dear to you – a boyfriend? Husband? No, boyfriend or fiancé is more likely, since you're only twenty-one. Am I right, Amelia Pond?"

Amy stared at him for a moment before picking her jaw up off the floor. "Uh... you're right, almost."

"Almost?" Sherlock frowned.

"I don't have a fiancé. I never have. I didn't lose anybody," she said, and it came out sharper than she'd intended.

"Amy, are you all right?" John asked suddenly, sounding concerned.

"Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because, uh... you're crying."

Amy reached up to touch her cheek. Her fingers came away wet, and it was then that she noticed the strange tight feeling in her throat. But she wasn't crying, she had no reason to be. So why...?

"You aren't lying," Sherlock said, so softly she barely heard him. "There's something else here, something missing, but –"

Amy cut him off. "How could you tell all that about me?" she asked, changing the subject. "Are you psychic or something?"

Sherlock rolled her eyes. "Psychic? No. I'm _observant_."

"Oh?" She sipped her tea, smiling like she had a secret.

"Something to share?" he asked her condescendingly.

Amy grinned, leaning forward a little.

"From what I can tell, I have several ideas about your line of work. You've got experiments in the kitchen, test tubes and stuff. Lots of books, too. So you could be a scientist or a teacher. Teacher's unlikely, since your flat is so messy. I know all this stuff can't be John's. You dislike people so much that you probably like children even less, so teacher is definitely out. Scientist is the more likely of the two, but even that one is doubtful. You don't seem to have the personality, let alone the temperament, of any kind of scientist. So the experiments and books are purely for gaining knowledge. You're so good at reading people, you could be a psychiatrist, but I've been around enough psychiatrists to know that you _definitely_ aren't one. That leaves the police force, but I don't think you look like a copper. Still, you do work with the police. Detective – no, private detective; although you're young, twenty-seven at most, you're smart, which is why have a job like that. You get bored quite easily by everyday life and people, but you aren't bored now, are you?"

Silence reigned in the room as Sherlock and John stared at Amy. The ginger smiled smugly, leaning back and sipping her tea once more as she waited.

John was the first to speak. "That… was incredible," he said slowly. "How did you…?"

"I'm _observant_," she smirked.

Sherlock was looking at her as if he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to slap her or kiss her. She was enjoying it immensely.

"How'd I do, Sherly?"

He blinked, clearing his throat. "Close, but not quite right," he informed her. "Not a private detective, a consulting detective. The only one in the world."

"What the hell is a 'consulting detective'?"

"When the police are out of their depth – which is almost always – they consult me for help."

Amy considered this. "So then, John, you're his partner?"

"Uh... yes, I am," John answered, still seeming stunned from Amy's deduction of Sherlock.

"You poor thing, having to live with him all day," she said cheekily, and John laughed a little while Sherlock looked annoyed.

Amy finished her tea and set her cup down, rising from the sofa and heading toward the door. "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson."

John blinked. "Wait, how did you know that I'm a doctor?"

She winked flirtatiously. "Haven't you figured it out yet? You should never underestimate me," she teased as she opened the door.

As she stepped into the hallway, she could have sworn she saw Sherlock smile.

* * *

**[SMS]**

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**From: Unknown number**

**Ooh, who's the ginger? Can't be another of Johnny Boy's, she's too pretty. x -JM**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**My apologies for not updating yesterday. This chapter still needed some refining, and I didn't get a lot of time to write until today.**

**I've picked a new (permanent) title for this fanfiction, _Matters of the Heart. _Let me know what you guys think of the title and of this chapter!**

**-Han**

* * *

_three_

Amelia Pond didn't make sense.

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin, deep in thought. She was clever, almost as clever as Sherlock himself, and she knew it too. He could only tell so much about her, and he had a feeling that he had barely even begun to scratch the surface of who she really was. She had secrets. Secrets, perhaps, that were hidden so deep that even she didn't know them. He recalled how she had cried without realizing it when he had mentioned her losing someone. She had seemed just as confused by it as he and John were.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He had never come across such a mystery as this woman, not since Moriarty.

He sat up, his eyes opening again. What if she was _working_ for Moriarty? That could explain the text he had gotten – it might be a hint that Miss Pond was one of Moriarty's spies.

"Where are you going?" John asked as Sherlock abruptly rose to his feet.

"Nowhere," Sherlock replied, heading over to the door. "You should sleep, John, it's getting late."

Indeed, it was nearly 11 o'clock by that time. Sherlock heard John sigh in annoyance, but he ignored it as he opened the door and headed purposefully down the stairs to 221c.

* * *

Amy yawned, curling up on the somewhat lumpy bed in the corner of her flat. She couldn't stop thinking about her new neighbors, especially Sherlock. They were both so different from how she had expected her neighbors to be. She knew the Doctor would get along fantastically with John.

_Oh, Doctor, when will you come back for me?_

Amy sighed, closing her eyes. She'd found the TARDIS that night two days ago, but it had been too late. It was already disappearing with that familiar wheezing groan.

_"__Doctor, come back!" _she had screamed, running toward it. It was fading quickly, vanishing before her eyes. _"Don't do this to me! You can't just leave me here! Come back!"_

She shook her head to banish the memory and sat up a little, reaching for her phone. When she had figured out that Sherlock and John were detectives, she had wanted to try and find them on the Internet, and now was as good a time as any.

Amy had typed as far as "Sherlo" when there was a sudden, sharp knock at her door, making her jump. She put her phone down and went to answer it, wondering who on earth would be knocking on her door at 11 o'clock –

"Hello, Amelia," Sherlock said.

She grinned. "Hi, Sherly," she greeted him, opening the door wider. "Care to come in?"

The detective said nothing, just stepped inside the small flat. Amy closed the door behind him, turning to ask why he had come.

But she didn't get a chance. As soon as she moved away from the door, Sherlock whirled to face her, catching one of her thin wrists in his hand and speaking quite forcefully.

"What do you know about Jim Moriarty?"

Amy's mouth opened, but she was too startled to speak.

_"__Tell me." _He moved closer, tightening his grip on her wrist.

"I – nothing!" she burst out, trying to free herself. "I've never even heard that name before!"

Sherlock nodded, releasing her and stepping away. Amy rubbed her wrist, glaring at him.

"So?" she demanded after a moment. "What was that about?"

"I had to make sure you talked quickly and didn't lie," he explained.

She pouted, crossing the room and sitting on her bed. "Fine. But you owe me an explanation. Who's this Moriarty person?"

"That's none of your business," he said shortly.

"Oi!" Amy cried, sitting up straighter. "I think it _is _my business! You can't just storm in here demanding if I know this guy and then not tell me about him."

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "He's a very dangerous person," he told her. "I thought you might have been working for him."

She frowned. "You thought I was, what, an assassin? A spy? Just because I could 'observe' some things about you and your flat?" she asked incredulously.

"That, and I received a message from Moriarty shortly after you left. The content of the message suggested he had seen you in my flat, and I took this as a possible hint that you were working for him. I was obviously wrong," he said, a little stiffly.

"Wait!" Amy shot to her feet, horrified. "You mean he saw me? In _your _flat?" she cried.

"Yes." Sherlock looked thoughtful. "He must have cameras somewhere in my flat. I really should find them."

"Like hell you should!" Amy nearly yelled. "I'm not going back to your flat until you do! I don't want some dangerous man _spying _on me while I'm there!"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Why would you be coming back to my flat?"

She glowered back, moving to sit back down on the bed. "Because we're neighbors," she said, a little more softly. "I befriend my neighbors – as long as they don't think I'm crazy, that is."

He chuckled a little. "Why would they think you were crazy?"

Amy smiled slyly, not answering his question. "You think you're _so _clever, don't you?"

"I _am _so clever," he said, like he was offended.

"Sure you are." She patted the spot on the bed next to her. "Have a seat, Sherly."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that bothersome name," he said as he crossed the room and sat down next to her.

"I know," she said, grinning. In the slightly-dim light of the cheap lamp, Sherlock's eyes were pale grey, with no hint of the blue she had seen earlier. "So, tell me more about this man."

"Moriarty is not a man, not really. He's a spider at the center of a web, a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. He's a consulting criminal."

"A consulting criminal…" Amy echoed. "So, that means people come to him if they want something done, right?"

"Exactly. His web, his network is so large, he can arrange practically anything. You need to disappear without a trace? Someone needs to be conveniently killed? Something needs to be stolen? He can do it."

Amy shuddered. "That's horrible. Why would someone _choose _to do that with their life?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Any number of reasons. Greed, fear, revenge… though the one I personally suspect is boredom." At her doubtful look, he asked, "What would you choose to do with yourself if you were a genius and a psychopath?"

"Become a detective," Amy replied. "That's what you did, isn't it?"

Sherlock stared at her, then frowned. "I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high-functioning sociopath."

To his irritation, she grinned. "I'm just teasing you, Sherly."

He sat wordless, his stare sharpening into a glare, and she laughed outright.

"You should go back to your flat," she told him, becoming more serious. "If you really are being watched, it isn't safe for you to stay here long."

Sherlock stood and walked quickly to the door, and that would have been the end of it had he not hesitated with his fingertips resting on the door-handle. But he did hesitate, and then he turned to face Amy and told her, "You would do well to be careful, Amelia. Keep away from him."

"Aww, are you worried about me?" she flirted.

He narrowed his eyes, looking her over. "No," he said as he left. "I just thought I might warn you."

* * *

**[SMS]**

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**From: Unknown number**

**My, my. Getting attached already, are we, Sherlock? You and Red were alone for quite some time. Were you telling her about _me_, by any chance? -JM**


	5. Author's Note: Writer's Block

**A/N:**

**I decided to quit NaNoWriMo, so the other author's note I posted is void. However, I'm having a bit of writer's block for Chapter 4, and I don't exactly know where I'm going with this story, so it may take some more time for me to update. In the meantime, I'll be updating ****_A Knight's Tale _****and ****_The Fairytale Phantom, _****so go check those out. :)**

**-Han**


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